Every man is more than just himself; he also represents the unique, the very special and always significant and remarkable point at which the world's phenomena intersect, only once in this way, and never again.

— Hermann Hesse, Demian

 

As I sat down on the floor across from the astrologer, I watched as she carefully studied the sheet of hieroglyphic-type symbols laid out before her. Her name was Debbie, a classmate from college. When she mentioned one day between classes that she did horoscopes on the side, I was fascinated enough to check this out for myself. My only experience with astrologers up to this point had been a casual conversation with a novice practitioner one year earlier, but that didn’t go well at all. This would be my first formal reading from a real, working astrologer. I wasn't a believer nor a disbeliever at this point, but I’d heard just enough about the subject to think it might hold some value.

 

I can't say when or where I first heard about this subject, since it was in the air throughout my childhood. Besides the ubiquitous newspaper columns featuring Sun-sign astrology, it wasn’t unusual in those days to turn on the radio and hear songs with lyrics like “When the Moon is in the 7th house and Jupiter aligns with Mars,” or hear celebrities on talk shows refer to their horoscopes. A more serious turning point for me came in my mid teens when a friend handed me a book titled Astrology by Joseph Goodavage. It offered a useful overview of the topic and piqued my curiosity about the possibility that there really could be something to this subject after all.

      

But actually having someone do your horoscope was a different matter altogether from just reading books or hearing celebrities talk about it on the TV. This felt far more personal, and held out the promise of probing deeper into my life than the newspaper columns possibly could. So I was told. I was only 19 at the time, very unsure of myself, and more than a bit nervous about what Debbie might uncover. After all, the books almost made it sound as though astrology gave you a kind of X-ray vision into the very soul. Yikes.

      

The next hour or so, she proceeded to tell me things about my personality and life that were at once both astonishing and mysterious. Astonishing, because her reading was surprisingly accurate — like her comment about my probably having had abdominal surgery in early childhood; or her remark about a romantic disappointment I had experienced just a few weeks earlier.

Mysterious, because I wondered how it was possible for someone who didn't really know me to look at bizarre markings on a piece of paper like that and say things about my life she had no way of knowing—all extrapolated just from planetary positions in outer space. It was all unspeakably weird.

 

The Teachers

I went away from that session more curious than ever, but it was another two years before I began formal studies of the subject. My first instructor was Maura Cleary, a brilliant woman who'd previously spent several years at the University of Chicago teaching with such luminaries as Mircea Eliade, Eugene Gendlin, Paul Ricoeur, and James Hillman — all while still in her mid 20s. Specializing in the work of Carl Jung, she originally set out to disprove astrology, expecting this to be a relatively easy affair, with the intention of publishing her results in the popular new publication Psychology Today. But while studying under veteran Chicago astrologer Norman Ahrens (and, later, Pearl Marks), she soon discovered just how accurate — and profound — this discipline was, not to mention its deep relevance to the work of Carl Jung. I also found out that, prior to her stint at the university, she had spent time as a novice at a convent in Kentucky. In some ways, I was almost as interested in learning about her as I was in learning about astrology.

 

Her teachings opened my mind to a host of new ideas, including the concept that each of us is intimately connected to the workings of the universe. One day she made this thought-provoking comment: “Because each person is an embodiment of the universe at the moment they’re born, if you were to take everyone on the planet and line them up according to birth order, you’d have a living portrait of the universe itself.” Astrology hints at powerful secrets, that was clearw: Jupiter, the Sun, Mars, and the other planets aren’t really outside of us; they’re a part of us, and we are a part of them. In a sense, our true nature is as vast as the universe itself. I felt as though my mind was expanding by the day.

 

The late 1960s and early ‘70s were a magical and serendipitous time in many ways, when it seemed comparatively effortless to find exciting teachers or teachings of an esoteric bent. Another catalyzing figure for me in that regard was Goswami Kriyananda, a Chicago-born yogi and mystic (not to be confused with the California-based teacher of a similar name). Kriyananda wasn’t as overtly psychological in approach to astrology as Maura, but his knowledge of the discipline was both encyclopedic and inspiring. During my nearly 15 years of study with him, he taught such diverse factors as methods of prediction, the intricacies of karma, esoteric astrology, the relation between the planets and the chakras, and an assortment of other concepts associated with this celestial science.

 

Over time, it became obvious to me that there was far more than simple book-learning behind Kriyananda’s understanding of the subject. Consider the time a friend came with me to his center to hear his lecture, and sat near Kriyananda’s podium as he delivered a talk to a small group of students. At one point, Kriyananda casually turned to my friend and mentioned, in passing, some of the planetary energies my friend was experiencing at the time. What made that so unusual was the fact that my friend had never divulged his birth information to Kriyananda or anyone else at the center, other than me. So surprised was my friend by Kriyananda’s comments that he decided to head into his office after the lecture to ask how he knew what was going on in his horoscope. “I could see it in your spine,” Kriyananda replied. To him, the horoscope was a reflection of the deeper energies inside one, or what the yogis called the chakras. If one were psychic enough, it seems, one could look into any person’s spinal currents and glean a sense of what was unfolding in their horoscope. Experiences like that ignited a curiosity in me for that horoscope/chakric connection that I would pursue (and write about) for many years afterward.

 

From there, it was a logical jump to study with Kriyananda’s own teacher, Shelly Trimmer (1917–1996), another yogi in the Kriya tradition. Part Kabbalist, part ceremonial magician, and part mystic, this man had studied for several years during the early 1940s with the famed swami Paramahansa Yogananda. Shelly brought to his understanding of astrology a body of mystical insight and esoteric knowledge unlike anything I'd encountered before, or for that matter, since. He lived in Bradenton, Florida during the years we interacted, and taught primarily on a one-to-one basis, scrupulously shunning publicity in favor of a more personalized approach to instruction. When I once asked him why he had never written any books, he answered simply, “My students are my books.”

 

Whether he was talking about astrology, time travel, or quantum physics, I sometimes had the eerie sensation I was dealing with someone who'd just arrived from some point in the future. Among other things, Trimmer regarded astrology as a key to the mysteries of consciousness itself. The symbols around us are a reflection of our state of consciousness, he'd say, and they can tell us a great deal about who we are and our relative level of spiritual awareness. “If someone truly knows the laws of symbols,” he said, “you could set that person down anywhere in the universe or on any plane of existence, and they’d be able to figure out where they are in the scheme of things. If you understand symbols, you’ll always have a way of orienting yourself.”

 

Like Yogananda, Trimmer emphasized the importance of knowing your horoscope but not becoming too bound by it. The horoscope is a map of karmic patterns and past-life memories, but he stressed that one’s spiritual nature transcends the horoscope and its symbols. By learning to balance your energies in the center of the spine — the subtle channel that yogis refer to as sushumna — you can become free from the compelling forces of karma and transcend the influences of the horoscope. That doesn’t mean that you no longer encounter problems in the outer world, simply that they don’t exert the same influence on your awareness. He remarked:

 

When your awareness is “on the wheel” [i.e., focused within the subtle currents to the right and left side of the spine], you’ll always be “crucified,” you’ll be controlled by the forces of fear and desire, and by your horoscope. But when you learn to balance your energies within the proverbial “straight and narrow” [sushumna], you are free. Then you’re able to work with the energies of the horoscope in a more constructive and creative way. Rather than the horoscope controlling you, you now control the horoscope.

 

Building a Practice

I continued to read voraciously on the subject, my interest stirred by writers like Charles Carter, Dane Rudhyar, Stephen Arroyo, Rob Hand, and Alan Oken, among others, and I set about calculating the charts of everyone I knew. As a way to hone my skills, I started by offering free readings to people and, before long, began doing horoscope readings professionally. My clients eventually came to comprise a diverse group of individuals from all walks of life. Most were simply looking for guidance in matters of romance or career, but there were more unusual cases, too: rock musicians, writers and actors, a few New Age celebrities, a former lawyer for the Watergate trial, some politicians, stock market investors, and even a prostitute or two. Like I say, diverse.

 

I also spent a great deal of time studying the birth charts of the mega-famous, since their lives were open books and provided marvelous case histories for investigation. That led to some interesting encounters along the way, as I sought to track down exact birth times when they weren’t publicly available. Occasionally, I’d find myself tongue-tied when actually crossing paths with these notable people, as happened with Aaron Copland, Frank Zappa, and Marshall McLuhan. But on other occasions, I mustered up the self-confidence to make contact, whether that was on the street, in an airport, or at some public event.

 

One of those celebrities was the author of the Dune books, Frank Herbert, with whom I spoke at length at a book-signing when no one else was around. During our conversation, he not only seemed sympathetic toward astrology but explained that his wife actually practiced astrology herself. On another occasion, I had the good fortune of speaking with futurist Buckminster Fuller, whose work and life I had long admired. I knew his birthday but not his moment of birth, and was eager to find that out. When I asked if he knew his exact birth time, he paused a while — leading me to wonder whether my question might have seemed foolish or even impertinent. Instead, a look of wistfulness came over his face, as he gave an answer that any astrologer would find intriguing: “I’ve always regretted not asking my mother that …”

 

Probably my most interesting encounter of all, though, was the time I called up science fiction writer Isaac Asimov in 1978. I knew he claimed to be skeptical about all things metaphysical (a smokescreen, I suspected, since he also professed to being deeply superstitious!), but I was fascinated by his books on science and his short stories like “Nightfall.” So, when I read in an interview that his Manhattan phone number was listed publicly, I called up Information in New York City and readily obtained it. Taking a deep breath, I dialed his number; it rang a few times, and — to my surprise — he answered it himself. That caught me off guard, since I expected he’d surely have a secretary or assistant answering his calls. After some hemming and hawing on my part, I told him I’d like to obtain his birth data for a project I was working on. (Coward that I was, I wasn’t quite ready to tip my hand as to my true reasons for calling.) He told me that not only was he uncertain of his birth time, he wasn’t even sure of his exact birth day, because he was born in Russia during an era when records were not well kept.

 

He didn’t seem annoyed about being intruded upon like this — not at first, anyway — so I took the liberty of bringing up astrology, to get his opinion of it. I mentioned that I was studying the subject and was curious to see how his horoscope coincided with his life and personality. He was open to this, but countered with an intriguing suggestion: “How about if I gave you the details of someone’s life, and you come up with their horoscope?” That was an idea I’d heard before from skeptics, and astrologers even have a term for this sort of thing: rectification. Unfortunately, I also knew that this was an especially difficult way to study astrology’s workings, because although a person’s horoscope is reflected in the circumstances of their life, the circumstances of their life could be the result of many different horoscopic combinations, not just one. I tried my best to explain that subtlety, but didn’t do a very good job of it, and he eventually grew silent as I continued talking. I got the feeling this was his way of politely letting me know that I’d overstayed my welcome, so I took the hint, thanked him for his time, and said goodbye. It may just be a coincidence, but I learned shortly afterward that he removed his phone number from the Manhattan phone book.

 

Intimations of a Divine Order

Early on, I realized what a powerful tool the astrological system could be, for good or ill. At its best, I saw that I could use astrology to help clients better understand their latent strengths and weaknesses, and help them to see their lives more clearly. When it came to predictive readings, I could chart the ups and downs of the year ahead so they could best take advantage of those trends. I often used the analogy of someone going on a trip across the country: You might spontaneously decide to make your way along the roads and highways without any set itinerary, and that has its own obvious appeal. But if you at least had a map, it would probably make the trip run more smoothly. A map allows you to get your bearings within the larger journey. In much the same way, the horoscope gives you a “road map” through time, and helps you to better understand the landscape of the changes that lie ahead on your life’s journey.

 

At worst, I also saw how powerfully we astrologers can impact our clients’ lives in problematic ways by what we say to them and how we say it. That’s true for anyone working in a counseling profession, to be sure, but it seems to pose an even greater risk in the astrological trade because the client can view the information as coming from a quasi-Divine source — it is written in the stars. When I first began looking into astrology, I had my own unfortunate experiences with a few armchair astrologers, and knew full well how even a single negative comment could skewer someone’s perspective for months, possibly even years. While I’ve made a few mistakes like that myself, from time to time, those early experiences made me especially conscious of how critical it is to frame one’s information for clients in as constructive a fashion as possible.

 

The dimension of astrology that had the greatest impact on my way of thinking, however, was its philosophical implications. It’s nearly impossible to practice this discipline for any length of time and not have your worldview shaken up in significant ways when you’re confronted by instances so startling that you’re led to stand back and wonder, “What on Earth is going on here?" For example, I’d look at someone’s chart and see that Saturn had just crossed over their Ascendant, so I’d ask if they’d experienced any problems with their teeth lately (since Saturn rules the teeth) — only to be told that they had just undergone a root canal two days earlier. I’d wonder to myself: What does that Ringed Planet out there have to do with teeth? It was as though astrology hinted at a bizarre network of connections behind the scenes that made no sense from any ordinary standpoint and yet was borne out in reality time after time.

 

Once, I was studying a client’s horoscope and realized that Neptune was going to affect her horoscope soon in a way that could possibly be dangerous. While quietly telling her about the emotional challenges this might pose, I also mentioned a few practical tips as well. Knowing that she lived by the ocean, I suggested that she consider avoiding boats or swimming in the ocean for the time being, since these are areas traditionally ruled by Neptune. When the predicted time rolled around, my client studiously avoided boats and bodies of water, just as I prescribed — but apparently those things weren’t quite ready to avoid her. While she was driving down the highway one afternoon, an accident occurred in the oncoming lane, involving a car with a small boat hitched behind. The collision sent the now-unhitched boat through the air at a high speed; it careened over her own car and missed her by just inches.

 

Here again, this begs the question: What possible connection could a planet way out there have to do with earthbound objects like boats? It seemed absurd, yet I couldn’t deny the reality of such synchronicities. Examples like this suggested, among other things, that astrology is above all a language of symbols and that reality itself is written in the language of symbols. Our world isn’t simply a mass of dead matter, in other words, but is suffused with meaning. In that spirit, I came to see our universe as being more akin to a great mythic novel than a dry science textbook.

 

In cases like that of my Neptunian client, I also saw that astrology pointed toward something equally profound — namely, the presence of a transcendent intelligence choreographing all events down to the finest detail. How else could one explain the way different lives intertwined so perfectly in a situation like my client experienced with the boat? If she had happened to arrive at that point in the highway just ten minutes earlier, she would have missed the accident altogether. So, what brought those different lives together so perfectly, right when the planets in her horoscope lined up in a symbolically complementary way, like interlocking parts of a cosmic Swiss watch? This wasn’t hard proof of the existence of a God, I realized, but it surely hinted at some regulating intelligence at work throughout the universe, whatever name one preferred to call it.

 

In a more modest but no less important way, astrology also expresses the incredible uniqueness of each individual’s life. Each of us is the center of our own universe, since there is no one else who shares our unique perspective. I often found myself reminded of that passage from Hermann Hesse I’d read years earlier (which opens this essay), suggesting that we are not “just ourselves,” but rather a remarkable and unique intersection of all the world’s phenomena, a singular expression of our universe. To this day, every person’s chart I look at offers me a reminder of that awe-inspiring fact.

 

Reprinted from The Mountain Astrologer, October /Nov 2012.

 

 

 

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